


i appreciate my pain 'cause i never had a choice

by Princex_N



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Acceptance, Chronic Pain, Disability, Friendship/Love, Gen, Past Ableism, Self-Acceptance, Understanding, patience - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 22:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Snufkin has heard it all before. From strangers and acquaintances and those he had known for weeks or nearly months. Skepticism about his ability to hike, concern for his health or well-being, criticisms for not caring for himself properly, well-meant (probably) advice about recovery time and solutions.Yet, the Moomins have never once presumed to know Snufkin's body better than he himself does.Sometimes the pain is the least troublesome part of having chronic pain.





	i appreciate my pain 'cause i never had a choice

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [Frnkiero and the Cellabration's song 'Veins! Veins!! Veins!!!'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XlLqS27KzcA)

Snufkin often forgets that just because he is used to something doesn't mean that anyone else will be. 

"Are you hurt?" Moomin asks, voice pitched higher in panic as he sees Snufkin approaching. "Did something happen?"

Snufkin will admit that the way he tends to walk on days like these (not quite  _bad_ days - just because the pain is there doesn't mean that the day and all its moments will be ruined. One can get used to pain quite quickly. Slow days, maybe, since he can't exactly move quickly like this, but slow is not necessarily a  _bad_ thing, all of the time) (Snufkin has had a  _long_ time to adjust to this reality) can be quite a sight to behold. On his more self-conscious days, he knows he looks like a bit of a fright ('a bit of a freak', as others have phrased it). He'd still, somehow, forgotten that people's first association with his strange lurch and shuffle is concern. 

"No," he rushes to assure. "Not hurt. My body is just like this sometimes. It hurts to move, but I am not hurt." 

"Oh," Moomin says, seemingly taking a moment to process this. They haven't known each other  _so_ long, yet, but Snufkin had been able to tell almost immediately that Moomin was a good person, kind and understanding. He hopes he hasn't found the limit to that understanding, now. "Can I help?"

Snufkin laughs, and appreciates the question more than he'll say aloud. "Not quite, my friend," the words are a warm shape in his mouth, and he likes the way they fit there. "The only thing I'll need today is a bit of patience - I can't walk as fast as I usually can."

Moomin nods. "Okay!" he says easily, like the little marvel he is. He falls into step next to Snufkin without a fuss, and never once puts his paws in Snufkin's space - not even under the guise of helping when he stumbles unsteadily. 

It has been a while since Snufkin has gotten that. 

Moomin fills the air between them with easy chatter, about the dream he'd had the night before, about the conversation they'd had at breakfast, the possible activities today could have in store. 

Calculated decision or not, there is no mention of whether or not Snufkin will or  _could_ participate in these theoretical activities with everyone else. No different than any other day. 

He doesn't say it aloud, but he couldn't be more grateful. 

* * *

The reactions Snufkin gets when others see him and find out are usually fit nicely into two different categories. 

There are those who ignore it with a steady insistence. Unsure of how to help or respond, they decide to avoid having to do either, and pretend that there is no problem that needs to be addressed. They avert their eyes from the painful shuffle of his gait when they think he is looking, do not mention it, do not make any move to treat him differently than they would anyone else. (This does not stop them from staring when they think he can't see, eyes fixed on the sight of a spectacle, making assumptions they won't speak aloud for him to correct.) 

Then there are the helpers. The ones so determined to assist and do the right thing that they forget to stop and ask what he'd need or like. Their 'helpful' hands on his arms or belongings that do little more than strain his shoulders and wrists, pulling him along at a pace he'd rather not strain to follow. They come packed full of advice, as if Snufkin has never heard any of it before, or could never hope to think of it himself. All assured that if he was doing things  _right_ that there would be no problem in the first place, and that the fact that he is not healed is proof that he simply hasn't tried hard enough to find the solution. 

Moominvalley is nothing if not a place of endless exceptions. 

Moomin takes it with an ease and empathy that he seems to take most things with. Moominmamma quietly tells him to let her know if there is anything she can do to help. Little My pauses only to ask if he'd hurt himself, and then seems largely disinterested when he tells her that he hasn't, but stays carefully out of his range of motion to avoid tripping him up. Moominpappa asks about how he does with stairs, and then sets to work building a ramp alongside the steps up to their porch before Snufkin can assure him that he technically doesn't  _need_ it (even if it does make things much easier). 

None of them make comments about what he eats or how often he stretches. None of them try to convince him that sleeping out in his tent is a bad idea, nor do they insist on him sleeping in a proper bed. No one pretends like the symptoms aren't there at all, and not one of them accuses him of lying or exaggerating. When Snufkin can switch from the heavy limping to a normal stride in a seemingly easy movement (even if the pain returns only minutes later) there is no one there pointing it out as if they've caught him in a lie. 

They watch and listen to him as they do with all the others, take in the things he says and doesn't say and make an effort to help him along without ever commandeering his life or becoming suffocating. 

Everyone treats it like it's the least they could do, but it's far more than Snufkin is used to.

* * *

"Does it help any?" Moomin asks, sitting in the grass a polite distance away and watching as Snufkin does his best to stretch away the tight curl of his muscles. 

Snufkin considers his presence, and his question, as he arches his body strangely to try and loosen his lower back and hips (there have been people who have tried to teach him 'proper' stretches before, but they never seemed to work what they were supposed to. Snufkin doesn't bother wondering about that, he's mostly figured out what works for himself). Usually the weight of someone else's eyes on him as he does this would be oppressive and insufferable, but Moomin's gaze doesn't roam over him as if he is a sideshow in a carnival. Rather than the horrified fascination, there is a kind of affection and polite curiosity - the same way he watches Moominmamma get ready in the morning, or Little My brush her hair out. It isn't bad, and Snufkin finds he doesn't mind it. 

As for his question, "Oh, a little, I suppose," he admits, face twitching as he pushes through the tear of agony spreading up his back and neck. "It doesn't fix everything, or get rid of all of the pain, but it helps a little." No one has ever  _asked_ this before, only ever assumed, and it's strangely difficult to find the words to explain. "If my muscles aren't as tight, then sometimes the joints don't ache as badly. But sometimes it's just that the rest of it is a little easier to deal with, if the muscle pains are taken even a little out of the equation." 

Moomin nods thoughtfully. "Like eating when you're upset," he rationalizes, coming to his own understanding of Snufkin's example. "It doesn't make what upset you go away, but things are less overwhelming when you're less hungry." 

Snufkin laughs at the comparison, but not meanly. "Exactly like that," he agrees, bracing his elbow against his knee to stretch his shoulder without aggravating his collarbones. 

"Can you teach me some?" Moomin asks, not getting closer, but sitting up a little straighter at the prospect. 

Snufkin had been wrapping things up so that they could get going with whatever Moomin had planned today, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to keep going. He smiles over at his friend, and says, "Of course."

* * *

When he gets the urge to leave, he's almost hesitant to admit it. 

Snufkin has heard it all before, of course. From strangers and acquaintances and those he had known for weeks or nearly months. Skepticism about his ability to hike, concern for his health or well-being, criticisms for not caring for himself properly, well-meant (probably) advice about recovery time and solutions. 

The Moomins have never once presumed to know Snufkin's body better than he himself does, but there's a first time for everything. 

Moomin is the first person he tells, because he wouldn't have it any other way. Although he has certainly found friends in nearly every person living in Moominvalley, the only one of them truly tying him to this place is Moomin himself. If, somehow, Moomin responded poorly to Snufkin's plans, then there would be no point in letting the others know, because there would be slim chance of him returning. 

But Moomin is Moomin, and Snufkin probably should have known that there was no need to worry. 

"You're not going to stay?" he asks, sounding a particular kind of heartbroken that Snufkin has never heard from him before. "Are you going to come  _back_?" 

"Of course," Snufkin tells him, pitches his voice like it's obvious, even though it wasn't really. "You're my best friend, Moomin. I need the time to myself, but of course I would come back to you. As soon as Spring is here, I'll be back. You'll be asleep the whole time, you'll hardly miss me at all."

Moomin sniffs miserably, and it pulls painfully at Snufkin's heartstrings. "I'll miss you," he argues stubbornly. "Even if I'm asleep." And Snufkin can't help but smile. 

"And I'll miss you," he says. "So, you know I'll be back." 

He reaches forward, pushing through the pain in his back that makes him wince at the movement, to wrap his arm around the back of Moomin's neck, pulling him close to press their foreheads together. A final show of affection (the first time Snufkin has hugged Moomin), and a last ditch effort to trigger the argument he's heard from dozens before.

But Moomin makes no mention of Snufkin's pain or his strange way of moving. There is no desperate attempt to guilt or goad Snufkin into staying longer, 'out of concern for his health' or otherwise. He only presses against Snufkin's face with enough strength to nearly push him backwards into overbalancing, and then they are both laughing. 

And for the first time, Snufkin feels fully understood. And for the first time, his promise to return is a genuine one.

* * *

The Winter is always the hardest season to pull through. 

Traditionally, it's the season that Snufkin travels the least in, always gone to a warmer place before it can truly settle in, but the change in schedule to accommodate his newfound friend is not one that he genuinely minds. There will be time to adjust to this way of doing things, he's sure, even if this year he spends the majority of his time on the road stuck in his tent, unable to get up.

(Snufkin's disinclination towards owning things, equal parts a part of who he is and an attempt to keep the weight on his back and shoulders minimal, means that he never has much in terms of protection from the cold. The way he curls up and shivers in his sleep means that his muscles are pulled more painfully tight than usual, which in turn pulls his joints into sharp peals of agony. It is what it is.) 

When he is capable of walking, more often than not his legs drag along worse than usual. The odd uplift in his stride to compensate for his hips and the strange lurch in his step to avoid aggravating his knees. The snow does him no favors, hiding the unevenness of the paths he walks and leaving him tripping over rocks and roots, caught by surprise each time. Alternately, the slick of snow and ice under his boots yank his legs out from underneath him, each time more painful than the last. 

It would be easy to stop. Give up. Remain where he is or return to Moominvalley, and resign himself to the life of stagnancy everyone promises is better for him. 

But Snufkin is, more than anything else,  _stubborn_ , and he likes it that way. Although the trek through the cold to reach the warmer South is slow and painful, staggering steps and sharp points of pain spread throughout his body, it is worth it. To see the crystalline shine of sun glinting off of snow covered fields, to hear the glass shuffle of river currents breaking through ice, to breathe in the smell of fresh air and wide open spaces.

If staying in one place, somewhere safe and enclosed, is what it would take for the pain to leave, then Snufkin would rather hurt for the rest of his life. 

Others have never hesitated to call him stupid for it, but he wouldn't change his mind for the world. 

* * *

There were times in the past when things were harder. Of course there were. 

Snufkin wasn't especially grown up when the pain first began to rear its head, and he had been bitter beyond measure that he had been the one cursed with it. He had been angry to think about how he was forced to balance his need to wander with the agony that came with walking. Frustrated that this was what his life was becoming. 

But Snufkin has never let himself be stopped by things for very long. Not rules, cops, signs, and  _certainly_ not his own body.

The pain doesn't lessen, walking doesn't get easier, but Snufkin isn't as put out by it anymore. 

It is what it is, and perhaps the pain  _will_ leave one day, maybe he will find the answer for what causes it and will find some way to relieve it, but maybe he never will. The way he sees it (the way he sees most things) is that he could waste the energy being angry about it, or find ways to work with what he has and enjoy the things he loves. 

(That isn't to say that he has to put up with other people and the nonsense they bring with themselves. An acceptance of his body doesn't mean an acceptance of  _everything_ , and it certainly doesn't mean a tolerance for it.) 

* * *

Spring creeps its way back into Moominvalley, and Snufkin is right there on its heels. 

The aches and pains lessen slightly with the warmer weather, and although he still alternates between walking with ease and favoring legs and joints, the return is made all the more faster for it. Even better is the slightly giddy feeling that bubbles in his chest, utterly thrilled at the prospect of seeing Moomin again and being able to spend time with him after the months of being apart. 

He has only a brief moment of apprehension, as he crosses the bridge that they had spent so much time on, where he wonders if perhaps Moomin hadn't missed him as much as he'd claimed. If he hadn't realized, in the time that they were apart, how much Snufkin's presence held him back. 

But the thoughts get no time to linger or fester before Moomin is  _there_ , barreling down the road with overexcited steps and enthusiastic shouts of Snufkin's name. Approaching with enough speed to make Snufkin falter (he might be able to walk and stand evenly on both feet at the moment, but that doesn't mean that getting knocked down by an excited Moomintroll is going to be a  _healing_ experience), only to slow himself just in time to come to a stop right in front of him, carefully reigning in his enthusiasm to preserve Snufkin's boundaries and space. 

It's that more than anything that gives Snufkin the final push to close the distance between them himself, shedding the heavy restraint of his backpack around his shoulders to throw his arms around Moomin's neck and delighting in the happy laugh that bubbles out of his friend and the firm yet cautious tightening of his arms around Snufkin's middle.

It's wonderful, it's perfect, it's sublime, and Snufkin cannot  _wait_ to see what his next year in Moominvalley will have in store. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm... processing. and snufkin seemed like a good choice for these emotions and mentalities. but please don't use me as an excuse to invalidate other disabled people's emotions about what they go through (and please god no "the only disability in life is a bad attitude"). 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com)


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